<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class="">How To Spend A Life<div class=""><br class="">                                                          <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><i style="font-size: 14px;" class="">for Rafael Jesus Gonzalez <br class="">                                                             <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>First Poet Laureate  of<br class="">                                                               <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Berkeley, California <br class=""></i>                                                               <br class="">                                                           <br class="">           Sometimes a poet parts the laurel  <br class="">                to disturb the peace<br class="">               to make peace.<br class=""><br class="">                That poet never leaves out justice, or freedom or truth<br class="">            from a poem<br class="">                but flows refugee love water<br class="">               from the cracks in<br class="">         everything, <br class=""><br class="">          invites in the moon to witness<br class="">             and reveal imprisoned wisdom<br class="">               in the dark wells of ignorance,<br class=""><br class="">               liberates the constellations so their stories<br class="">              can circle endlessly remything and reimagining<br class="">             from sorrows and joys <br class="">             beetling green through charred remains<br class="">             of an earth on fire.<br class=""> <br class="">         Tall trees root in hearts that attract wild birds.<br class="">         Life becomes a forest of singers.<br class="">          Summoned by the accelerating song,<br class="">         great inner bridges rise up.<br class="">               <br class="">           A skein of angels flies by<br class="">         from the poet’s hands. <br class="">          The poet runs with coyotes <br class="">                through his poetry hood,<br class="">           undoing spells of doubt and fear,<br class="">          endeepening the world,<br class="">             tossing out coins of hope,<br class="">         spending his entire fortune of flowering words <br class="">            for us.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Gail Onion</div></div></body></html>